


Fingers in Your Belt Loops, Big Shoots

by Ellerigby13



Series: Harlequin Prompts 2020 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Antagonism, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22531318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13
Summary: Brock Rumlow, actual cowboy, has been brought on set as a consultant and nuisance for Darcy Lewis, playing cowgirl-of-the-week in a movie she probably shouldn't have signed up for.  You know what happens when they get alone in the fake-stables.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow
Series: Harlequin Prompts 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619725
Comments: 8
Kudos: 88
Collections: MHEA Harlequin Hoopla Prompt Challenge 2020





	Fingers in Your Belt Loops, Big Shoots

“That ain’t the way you milk a cow.”

Darcy closed her eyes and let loose a deep exhale through her nose, anticipating the dark-haired man behind her with an irritation that ran clean from her head deep into her gut. When she turned to face him, her suspicions confirmed, he was smirking at her with literally the most stereotypical snippet of straw poking out of his mouth, his arms folded over his chest.

“They’re rubber nipples. And I will have a grand total of zero close-up shots for the milking scene. So thank you for your input, but no thank you."

She turned back around, and she meant to pay him no mind, but when she heard his footsteps draw closer, the blood boiling inside her, Darcy bit down on her lip, not caring how dramatic she looked standing up so abruptly with her fists clenched.

“You don’t like me much, do ya?” Brock Rumlow said, his rasp coming too close to her ear. She swallowed; his hand ghosted over her arm, settling at last at the curve of her elbow. Darcy’s jaw tightened.

“I don’t like you acting like you know better than everything I do.” Her voice betrayed her, too high and thin, and the way her breath hitched in her throat when his hand met her skin, naked of the thin flannel that wouldn’t protecther anyway, made her hate him almost as much as she hated herself in this moment. “I don’t like the way my career seems like a joke to you.”

“Hm.” He was smiling, she was sure of it. His breath tickled the hair at her ear - her heart thrummed riotously in her chest. “Your career ain’t a joke, far as I’m concerned. To be an actor, you gotta be real good at lyin’. I’d be about as good an actor as you’d be a cowgirl.”

The air was suddenly hotter than she remembered, and while the dust around them was the real New Mexico salt of the earth, the mild climate appropriate for mid-fall shouldn’t have made the heat in her belly or the lump in her throat quite so pronounced. He’d been called on to help her make a Western, but now it felt more like...like she didn’t know what. Or if she did, she didn’t want to say.

“Rumlow.”  _ What are you doing? _ she wanted to ask.  _ Step back _ , she should’ve said. But she could feel his chest against her back, his nose a whisper away from the tender spot below her ear.

“Lewis.”

He broke the stalemate with the grasp on her hip, whirling her around to face him. She cursed her tits for bouncing against his chest, cursed the costume designer for putting her in a flannel that was too thin and too tight, and cursed him for smirking about it.

In retrospect, it was probably good that he didn’t kiss her. Not on the lips, at least. Not in front of the fake cows, or the fake horses, with the scruff of his beard brushing her neck, his fingers curling into her empty belt loops.

“Rumlow - ”

“Shh.” She let her head loll backwards, feeling his rough, hot mouth tracing a trail down her neck. His hands were on her ass now, crushing her to his chest, fingertips skimming in the small, exposed strip of skin between her undershirt and her jeans. His tongue peeked out to touch down on her pulse, ripping a small gasp from her. “Where you from, Lewis? My guess…” He paused to peel open the top button on her shirt. “...little suburb. Maybe Midwest, maybe East Coast…”

“Fuck.” He thumbed her nipple through the thin balconette bra she had on, smiling into her neck. She jolted again as he bit down gently, a blush rolling through her chest. “Brock - don’t - ”

He paused. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t - don’t tease me.”

For the first time, he met her eyes, and while the playful light still filled his expression, there was something earnest in there, too, something searching hers. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He maneuvered her swiftly against the set stable, thankfully finding it strong enough to support the weight they put into it. Brock made fast work of sliding her shirt and tank top up to her bra and her jeans down, and Darcy kicked them clumsily down her boots, one hand darting out for his belt buckle. He stopped her, pinning her wrist between them.

“No, ma’am. Not yet.”

He released her wrist and his lips were on her again, moving fast, down her chest and past her navel, to the small patch of hair nestled in her thighs. She felt him smile again before realizing that her hands had fisted into his hair on the way down.

“You’re so pretty,” he chanted, planting kisses on her hips, her knees, her thighs. “So fucking pretty.”

“Brock.” She hated the way it came out like a whine, but pressing her legs together, she could feel the want inside of her, coaxed out by Brock fucking Rumlow. “Please.”

He pressed a thumb to her clit, rolling it in a lazy circle, testing her. She felt a moan rise from deep in her chest, and when he replaced his thumb with the flat of his tongue, she felt her lower half jerk towards him. He laughed through his nose.

“ _ So _ fucking pretty…”

Her publicist would flay her if she was caught - what did she know about Brock Rumlow? was he married? have any children? - but it didn’t stop Darcy from coming apart in his hands and his lips three times that day, her cries and gasps and groans unheard on the empty set. She’d have beard burn on her thighs and fingerprint-shaped bruises on her ass cheeks, but when he finally pushed her over the edge again, shaking with want, he was grinning once more, swiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“You okay?”

She closed her eyes, the feeling coming back to her curled toes. “Brighton.”

He cocked his head, pulling her close again so that they were chest to chest.

“I’m from Brighton.” She yanked up her jeans and then rested her hands on his collar, straightening it out for him. “New Jersey.”

It took a moment for him to register what she’d said, but after that moment he dropped his forehead to hers, laughing. “Christ, Lewis, you got a long way to go.”


End file.
